


All In the Family

by NoelleAngelFyre



Series: 2nd Time Around (TMNT 2014) [6]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)
Genre: Budding Romance, F/M, Family Feels, First Kiss, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Songfic (Sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case of the runaway has ended.  Loose ends are tied up, apologies are made, and new relationships are beginning.  Here's to the new family. (Epilogue to "The Runaway")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Nothings

“Wow.”

“Mm.”

“ _Wow_.”

“Mm hm.”

“I mean… _ **wow** _.” Celine drapes herself gracefully over the couch, tilting her head with a broad grin, eyes focused on the brunette seated across the way. “I leave town for a couple weeks, and you just let loose. What _am_ I to do with you, April O’Neil?”__

__Admittedly, an early morning girl-talk session hadn’t quite made it into April’s plans for the day. Actually, after last night, she hadn’t planned out much of anything. At all. There had been a few thoughts about eating, and showering, and perhaps being somewhat productive throughout the day. But then, she’d thought more about burrowing deeper into the mattress, wrapping herself in a combined cocoon of cotton sheets and firm, solid, sweetly encompassing arms, and suddenly sleeping the day away hadn’t seemed like such a terrible idea._ _

__But of course, nothing in life goes according to plan, and the thought had no sooner crossed her mind than the phone started ringing. Loudly. Frequently. Consistently. And she had finally gotten so tired of the sound that there had been only one viable response. It hadn’t been until after she’d answered the call that she’d realized it wasn’t her phone._ _

__On the positive side, it had been Leo calling. On the negative side, it had been Leo calling. While he’s probably the better sibling to have on the other end of the line, she highly doubts it makes anything easier, given that he was calling for his brother and got her instead. Her, sounding quite sleep-addled and a little grumpy at the disturbance, and if she’s really lucky, he heard the distinct rustling of sheets when she sat upright._ _

__So, no sleeping in, because her bed had become very cold after Donnie left, in a flushed-face hurry, and there had been no point in trying to recreate the warmth. Breakfast for one had been on the stove, and she’d been contemplating something worthwhile to do for the rest of her day when the knock had come at the door, and on the other side had been Celine, looking a little tussled from the red-eye flight, but otherwise her usual self. They had probably woken up half the neighbors, grabbing each other and hugging and squealing girlish delight and making declarations about how long it had been and how happy each one was to see the other, and then, finally, it had occurred to someone—maybe her, maybe Celine, who knows?—to move the ordeal inside._ _

__Girl talk, inevitably, had followed shortly thereafter._ _

__“You make it sound indecent.” April rolls her eyes, stretches out across the carpet, and settles in place with both arms folded beneath her head. “All we did was kiss.”_ _

__“How many times?” the blonde’s grin, if possible, grows. The long pause that follows her question doesn’t help much, except to make her look even more like a cat with the canary. April tries for some respectable answer, but can’t find one, and frankly, at this point and with this woman, it really doesn’t matter._ _

__“I…lost track.”_ _

__She’s half-expecting Celine to give a triumphant cry, or something dramatic like that, but nothing comes. She waits one minute, two, three…after five, the silence becomes highly disconcerting. Though not nearly as much as the look on the other woman’s face, when April finally cracks and chances a peek._ _

__“You shameless little vixen.” Celine declares, shaking her head in a way that is quite at odds with the highly-satisfied grin on her face. “What _on earth_ am I to do with you?”_ _

__She shrugs, flops back on the carpet, and exhales slowly with a grin stretching wide across her face. “Pull me back down from the clouds I’ve been floating on _all night long_.”_ _

__“Oh, I don’t know if I have the heart to do such a thing.” The blonde shakes her head again. “You might pop.”_ _

___Probably._ It has to be unhealthy, for her heart to be twittering away inside her chest and facial muscles aching from how broad and ridiculous her smile is right now. But if this is how she meets her end, she’s perfectly okay with that. She’ll redefine the concept of “dying happy”._ _

__“So,” she slowly rolls over onto the side, facing her companion, and props her head up with one arm, “should I be flattered and think myself your first stop, fresh off the plane?”_ _

__“Indeed, you should.” Celine nods. “And the key word there is _flattered_. Rest assured, you were almost my second stop. But then I wouldn’t have seen you for another day or two, and my heart couldn’t bear the thought of it.”_ _

__“I’m touched.” April pushes herself upright, stretching again, and gives her hair a little tussle. “Have you eaten?” At the responsive head shake, she gestures towards the kitchen. “Come on, then. Let’s pick up where I left off, and I want to hear all about your trip. How’s your aunt?”_ _

__“You mean Daddy’s favorite in-law?” Celine smirks, briefly, following the brunette’s lead. “Let’s just say for all the endearments he throws at her, she throws each one back. I won’t repeat most of them.”_ _

__“Sparing my tender sensibilities?”_ _

__“Sparing my tongue from rotting and falling out.” The blonde perches on the countertop, legs crossed demurely at the ankle. “My aunt grew up around older brothers and farmers. Her language doesn’t inspire ladylike descriptions.”_ _

__“Obviously.”_ _

__“Enough about me.” Celine continues, with an idle gesture. “It would seem congratulations are in order, yes? I can’t imagine you were sliced up without some victory involved.”_ _

__“The cops showed up after the boys finished with those punks.” April nods, wincing a little as her left side reminds her, loudly, of its tenderness. “I haven’t heard too much about what happened next…little busy last night.” She finishes with a low mumble._ _

__Celine smirks, but doesn’t follow up on that. Instead, she leans a little closer, head tilting like she does when intrigued. “May I assume that’s on your agenda for the day?”_ _

__She gives an affirmative nod. “The case isn’t closed yet.” She finishes with the eggs and dishes them each a plate. Not the most elaborate breakfast ever, but it’s simple and will suffice until later, when she doesn’t have other things to deal with. “I have a family to reunite.”_ _

__A pause follows, as they’re both sitting down to the table, and then she looks at Celine with an expression that, obviously, warrants further intrigue. “Yes, April?”_ _

__Silence, again, as she pokes thoughtfully at the eggs, her mind working hard and fast, formulating a plan that probably is ridiculous, a request bordering on the absurd, and yet somehow she thinks it might just work out. Maybe not, and she has been proven wrong before, but maybe, just _maybe_ …_ _

__“I have something to ask you.” She finally answers, taking a slow bite and watching the look on her friend’s face with mild trepidation. Celine knows the kind of questions she tends to ask, especially with this look on her face. Most of the time, they’re innocent enough. Other times, they can border on the strange and warrant a few shakes of the head before resigned acceptance. And, in the early days of their relationship, there were a few that almost got them both thrown in jail. She’s sure, from the delicate lift of her eyebrows, Celine is debating her answer, trying to figure out ahead of time what sort this one will be._ _

__“So ask.” Celine finally answers, sipping her juice with the same expression, and it’s now or never, before she loses the nerve to actually speak the words out loud._ _

__“Have you ever considered being a foster parent?”_ _

__***_ _

__“Hey, kiddo.”_ _

__Mariah looks up and to the side, and the hospital breakfast tray is quickly forgotten as she slips out of bed, pulls the gown a little tighter around her waist, and takes a few steps forward. “Angel.” She whispers, the relief radiating from her voice and arms reaching out, like a child for its mother._ _

__Angel catches her, accepting and returning the embrace with a quiet sigh. A night in the hospital usually doesn’t do much for one’s overall appearance, but the IV fluids, a shower, and a couple good meals are working magic. Mariah looks clean, she looks rested, and even though she’s in a backless paper gown, she just looks better._ _

__Her eyes immediately dart down to the brace wrapped around Angel’s leg, and then looks up again with tears starting to brim. She’s a good kid, but cries too easily. She feels for other people, and that’s not a bad trait, but she needs to tone down the waterworks. “It’s alright.” Angel finally says, patting her shoulder lightly. “Doctor just wants to make sure nothing’s jacked up down there. I’ll be fine.”_ _

__Mariah breathes a sigh of relief, nods, and settles back on her bed while Angel perches on the edge. “What happened in there?” she finally asks, drawing both knees up to her chest. “I mean, the policemen didn’t tell us anything, but…did you really take down all those guys?”_ _

___Ha._ If ever there was a chance to make herself out to be a superhero, this would be it. “Not alone.” She answers; she’s a good liar, but gives credit where it’s due. “I had some…unexpected help.”_ _

__“Must have been some incredible help.” Mariah whispers, sounding awed. She’s sure the other girl is envisioning muscle-bound hero-types, busting down doors and taking names and walking away without breaking a sweat. Her mouth almost twitches up in a little grin, but she bites it back._ _

__“You could say that.”_ _

__“What about Miss Karai?” Mariah continues. “Is she…?”_ _

__Angel shrugs, acting as though it doesn’t matter when it does, and it stings more than she’d like to admit, knowing Karai slipped out and disappeared. The small scrap of torn paper left on her nightstand helped, a little, but not enough. She essentially came and then left, without a real final farewell, without any apologies or promises, or anything of the like. Some part of her wonders if that’s for the better, because it means Karai wasn’t attached and so neither should she be. The rest of her…just hurts._ _

__“Alive.” A voice from the door makes Mariah jump and tense a little; Angel turns her head and feels a strange, unexpected, but yet welcomed sense of relief as O’Neil—no, no, _April_ , she reminds herself again—steps into the room. For someone who probably lost a shirt to all that blood and the knife that caused it, she looks good. Casual today—jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved shirt—and her hair piled loosely atop her head with a clip. Other than favoring her right side, she doesn’t give any signs of being in pain, let alone having gotten shafted twenty-four hours ago._ _

__The response takes a minute, but then Mariah’s eyes widen and she leans forward. “She’s alive?”_ _

__“I talked to her myself.” April nods. “And I promise I don’t do séances.”_ _

__That makes Angel suck in her lips, to avoid losing face with a laugh, and Mariah giggles a little before asking the obligatory question. “Who are you?”_ _

__“April O’Neil.” The brunette smiles gently. “I’m a P.I. here in New York…your father asked me to find you.”_ _

__Predictably, Mariah’s smile fades and is quickly replaced with a mix of anxiety and cautious optimism. “He’s here?” she whispers. “Daddy…he’s here?”_ _

__“Yes.” April nods, stepping closer. “He went to the police, other P.I.’s, and then he came to me. He’s been looking for you, Mariah. He wants you to come home.”_ _

__Her eyes drop to the bedcovers, and April obviously reads the look on her face as well as Angel does; the brunette steps even closer and sits down on the mattress edge. “She’s not there anymore, Mariah.” April murmurs, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder, undeterred by the way Mariah flinches a little. “It’s just you and your dad again.”_ _

__“Until the next one.”_ _

__Angel rolls her eyes, crossing the good leg over the bad one. “There’s always going to be a _next one_.” She says bluntly. “Your dad can’t spend the rest of his life with just you. Not gonna happen.”_ _

__“Why not?” the tears are there, again; she really is a good kid, but she is a little spoiled._ _

__“What happens when you move out?” she continues, grateful that April doesn’t cut in or try and intervene; actually, she’s giving a look that almost feels like pride. “What happens when you find a guy and get hitched and move on to happily-ever-after? Or are you planning to die in that house with him? Because if you are, that’s just sad. And wrong, on a few levels.”_ _

__Mariah’s lower lip quivers, and April leans a little closer. “When I was seven, my father was taken from me.” She murmurs, stroking her thumb along the younger girl’s shoulder. “And it was the worst time of my life, moving around to different family members who could never replace who and what he was to me. As daughters, we have a special bond with our fathers, and when that’s disrupted, or taken away…it hurts. It hurts a lot.”_ _

__She leans closer still. “But, for all that we think our fathers are heroes and perfect, they’re not. They make mistakes, just like the rest of us. They say something that hurts us, they get angry, they get scared but respond in a way that just makes things worse.” Her hand drops down to Mariah’s, squeezing gently. “And the worst possible thing you can do, Mariah, is punish them for it. You have to forgive them, especially when they are all you have. Family is irreplaceable. We’re not perfect, and we screw up more than once. But we _have_ to forgive each other.”_ _

__For a few minutes, no one says anything. Mariah stares down at her hand in April’s, sniffling a little, and Angel keeps her gaze on the brunette. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, she has a suspicion that what words come out of April’s mouth aren’t just inspired words of wisdom. She’s speaking from her own personal experience, saying not only what needs to be said for someone else, but also for herself. It just happens to sound incredibly profound._ _

__Then, slowly, Mariah nods, wiping her eyes. “I…I want to see him.” She whispers, sniffling a little more. “I want to go home.”_ _

__Angel finds some of her own clothes to get the other girl out of that ridiculous hospital gown. She knows they’ll never be returned, but that’s okay. She isn’t particularly attached to any piece of clothing she happens to own. They can always be replaced. The shirt is a little big, and the jeans need a belt to keep them on her hips, but otherwise they work out nicely. They’ll work even better when Mariah gets more meat back on her bones and isn’t a walking skeleton anymore. _Nothing a home-cooked meal can’t fix_ , as Grandma used to say._ _

__April walks her back down the hall; they must look like a pair, both of them walking more heavily on one side than the other, taking their sweet time, and sometimes pausing to lean against the wall and take a breath. To think, she’s a passionate dancer and gymnast; she looks like an athlete with a career-ending injury._ _

__“So,” she finally breaks the silence, during one of their breaks, “where are the cops shipping me off to? Juvenile Hall, or another group home?”_ _

__“That’ll be determined in time.” April answers with an idle shrug. “You were as much a victim as any of them. You’ve just got a tougher skin.”_ _

__“I picked those girls off the street.” She says, jaw tightening a little at the thought. “Brought them to the gang. I practically sold them off, like cows for slaughter.”_ _

__“You were surviving. And you took care of them.” The brunette clasps her shoulder with one hand. “And more importantly, when push came to shove, you were on the right side of the tracks. I’m not going to let that go unnoticed.”_ _

__Surprisingly enough, she actually believes that. It’s stupid, she knows, because people in this world break promises all the time and you can never trust what anyone says they’ll do or not do, but this woman came for her when there was no possibility that they’d actually survive that mess, and it’s only fitting that she at least believe April when she promises to have her back. She already has once before._ _

___She wasn’t the only one._ _ _

__“Hey,” she suddenly adds, stepping closer to the older woman, “how about your…friends?” she drops her tone as a precaution, just in case. “Everyone okay?”_ _

__April smiles, tucking one arm around her shoulders and steering her outside, onto a little patio; she’s pretty sure this is the designated smoking area, but no one is out here lighting up, so it’s a true breath of fresh air that she gladly gulps down into her lungs. It’s a rather pale day, the sky clouded but not dark, and the sun must be hiding up there, somewhere, because the clouds are bright and almost glow. The breeze feels good, nice and cool, and she takes another soothing breath while leaning against the rail. It takes the pressure off her leg, and she needs it. Not that she’d ever have let Mariah know, but while she managed to escape any serious breaks, there is some very serious deep muscle bruising and possibly a hairline fracture. Hence the reason she won’t be hobbling back onto the dance floor anytime soon._ _

__“They’re fine.” April answers, resting against the railing beside her. “Trust me…they’ve had far worse than a bunch of street punks coping attitude.”_ _

__Angel smiles, just a little, and nods. After a thoughtful pause, she looks over at the brunette, blinking away loose strands of hair, and adds, “So…what’s the deal with you two?”_ _

__“Excuse me?”_ _

__“Tall, lean, and super-geeky.” She smirks a bit. “What’s the story with you guys? He your man?”_ _

__It’s very, very interesting to watch April’s face, to see the way her gaze drops down to the side in the same moment as her lips curve up into a soft, girlish smile, and her eyes suddenly sparkle and glimmer, and there’s a soft blush creeping along her cheeks. She looks a lot younger, but in a good way. And she definitely just answered the question, because she looks like a starry-eyed girl so in love that she doesn’t know which way is up, down, or anything in between._ _

__“Yes,” April finally murmurs, slowly pushing one hand through her dark locks, “I guess he is.”_ _

__Angel nods. “What about the others? Any of them attached at the hip?”_ _

__Now, the girlish grin gives way to a playful smirk; the brunette leans back, stretching a little, and nods. “One of them.” The smirk grows as she lifts an eyebrow. “Though, maybe _two_ of them…Mikey seems quite taken with you.”_ _

__She scoffs quietly, rolling her eyes and stretching both arms over her head. “He’s not the first.”_ _

__“True enough.” April lifts the other brow, and that smirk is quite fetching, really. “But something tells me he might be the first to make you smile.” She leans a little closer, “Don’t think I didn’t see that little smile of yours, Miss Thomas.”_ _

__The redhead shrugs lightly, sucking her lips in for a minute while she continues stretching, deliberately taking her time, and then slowly maneuvering herself up onto the rail. The stupid splint limits her usual flexibility, but she gets herself up there with some sort of grace. “Yeah, well,” she mumbles, “he can be somewhat charming. Somewhat.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

“You did _what_?”

He supposes it’s sad that he didn’t put two and two together from the beginning, but in his defense, it didn’t seem completely out of the norm to have April answering his brother’s phone. After all these weeks, Donatello spending night after night after night in her apartment, he supposes it didn’t occur to him to suspect anything untoward.

That is, until his brother bee-lined into his room, flushed in the face, and blurting out apologies for crimes Leonardo didn’t even know had been committed. And now, he is perched on his bed, staring blankly at his younger sibling, seated on the floor with his limbs folded together and rocking slightly. The last time Donnie looked like this, he was five and had been awake for over forty-eight hours. Insomnia, for better or for worse, was almost second-nature to him. Once he got started on a project, he stayed on it day, after day, after day, after day. Sleep and eating are just passing fancies.

“I just—she did—it was—she started it!” Donatello finally explodes, face turning an interesting shade of purple and eyes very wide and frantic. “I mean, she, she did the first, but…well, I, I might have…reciprocated. Several times.”

Leonardo nods, slowly, letting his brain process everything, including if not especially the look on his brother’s face. This is, to say the least, an unexpected turn of events. He’d like to investigate a little more into how, when, and why this all took place, but right now his brother looks ready to hyperventilate and he should probably handle that first.

“Don,” he says, leaning forward a bit with hands outstretched, trying for a comforting tone of voice, “it’s okay—”

“ _Okay_??” Donatello’s voice hitches up an octave, and that definitely didn’t work out very well. “Leo, this is—this is anything but okay! If Sensei finds out what I did—what _we_ did—I’ll be in the Hashi for a month!”

“Sensei isn’t going to send you to the Hashi for this, Don.” He says, and he’s fairly certain that isn’t a lie, because it’s not the worst thing that could have happened, and it’s far less embarrassing for Donnie to confess he and April kissed, compared to what _he_ had to confess, that he and Celine had been…intimate. In every possible use of the word.

With a heavy sigh, he drops down to his knees, shifts forward until he can rest beside his brother and wrap a reassuring arm around his slumped shoulders. “Donnie,” he continues, “this isn’t the end of the world. Besides, don’t you think you’re wasting a lot of time freaking out, when you could be focusing on what really matters?”

Donatello gives an incoherent mumble, face buried into folded arms; Leonardo shakes his head, tightens the arm around his brother, and tucks him closer. He lets the silence fall, and lets his closeness offer the unspoken, because he understands. Not just the simple understanding of one brother to another, but the deeper, more complicated understanding of his brother’s fear. No, terror. Terror and uncertainty and confusion, all mixed with a rush of elation and delight and the kind of happiness that borders on ecstasy. The emotional cocktail inspired by having someone so beautiful, so very human, look at someone—some _thing_ —like them and _want them_. An impossible dream suddenly, abruptly, without any warning, made very real. It is absolutely terrifying.

“I’ve never felt anything like it.” His brother’s voice is very soft; even by his quiet and mild-mannered demeanor, it’s soft and barely above a whisper. “The way she felt in my arms…she’s warm, and soft, and perfect. And I’m not. I’m not, Leo. But, last night…” a shiver runs along his limbs, shared between them with their closeness, “just for a moment…it felt like I was. When she kissed me…”

Donatello falls silent again, and it’s quite extraordinary to see his intelligent, highly verbose brother reduced to silence, the words caught tight in his throat, and limbs still quivering at the memories alone. “When she kissed you,” Leonardo continues for him, letting his own memories seep into his mind and enter his voice and leave every emotion raw and exposed, “you felt normal. You felt like every absurd, impossible, ridiculous dream and fantasy you’ve ever had came true.”

His brother nods, shakes his head, and releases a shuddering exhale. “What am I going to do, Leo?”

“The one thing you’re not very good at.” He answers with a small smile. “Going with the flow.”

Brown eyes blink, owlishly, from behind the glasses. “Without a plan, without any sense of direction, not knowing what’s going to be coming next or if this is even going to work or whether last night was just a, a…well, a fluke?”

“Yes, yes, definitely, and I think you know better than to assume April acts on _a fluke_.” 

“It’s not an irrational or illogical assumption.” Donatello defends, trying to look indignant and only managing to showcase his anxiety all over again. “The body releases endorphins and adrenaline after a physically exhausting feat. After the body has endured a physical trauma, even more endorphins and other such chemicals are released in order to calm the senses while the body begins to heal. She was involved in a highly exhausting experience and consequently suffered a serious physical wound. It’s completely reasonable that she—”

“Donnie,” he cuts in, fixing his brother with a look, “I _know_ you’re not trying to chalk this all up to a chemical imbalance or hormonal release, right?”

“It’s a perfectly—”

“—Idiotic thing to assume, and an even stupider thing to say out loud.” Leonardo finishes for him, shaking his head slowly. “Really, Don… _you_ ’re the smart one, remember?”

“Do you have any idea how stupid I felt last night?” Donnie takes off his glasses, wipes a hand over his face, and then puts them back on. “I was reading well before any of you, could write out a full paragraph before Mikey or Raph even knew how to spell their names, and by all calculations I could easily have two, maybe even three college degrees, were I human. April kissed me, and my mind flat-lined. Dead on arrival, do not resuscitate, the whole package of sheer idiocy.”

“Well, you’re not going to make it better by trying to say she kissed you because her body was out of whack.”

“But—”

“ _Donatello_ ,” now, he takes his brother by both shoulders, ensures he has undivided attention, and huffs out a breath, “keep this up, and last night is going to become a one-time-only thing, alright? April kissed you. You kissed her back. Several times. Accept it with open arms, never ask her anything about a mental state or imbalanced hormones, and it might actually happen again.”

His brother opens his mouth again, but then there’s a loud buzzing from his belt, and he quickly closes it, retrieves the phone, and, after checking the caller ID, flushes darkly again. When he actually answers the phone, the first attempt at coherency comes out in a high-pitched tone that Leonardo hasn’t heard his brother make since puberty. He knows Donnie hears it too, because the blush darkens even more, and he clears his throat frantically. “Hi, April.”

He listens for a couple minutes, brow furrowing a bit, nods to himself, and then his eyes dart up to Leo’s. “Two hours?” he says, keeping a locked gaze with his brother. “Sure, that will work…where?”

Silence again, and he nods again. “Sure. Sure, we’ll be there. Okay. See you then.”

Leonardo tilts his head a bit. “Is she alright?” there hasn’t been a time prior to this when April has asked for their presence topside, only an advanced notice, always through Donatello, that she’d be stopping by to say hi or spend a few hours with them. She’s never asked for them to come above ground.

“Seems to be.” Donnie says, looking a little befuddled himself as he pockets the phone. “She just asked for all of us to meet on her roof, in a couple hours. Didn’t say why.”

Curious, and perhaps somewhat concerning, but Donnie doesn’t look worried, and he would be the first to pick up on anything off with April’s tone, or hear a background noise that prompted any kind of emergency response, so if his brother looks only confused and not frantic, he supposes all must be well. It wouldn’t be the first time April has surprised them, and he can’t remember a surprise that wasn’t pleasant—her little stunt with Karai aside.

_Karai._ He wonders, silently, if she’s still at the hospital. He doubts it. She is a trained warrior, just as they are, and pain is a mere annoyance rather than any kind of obstacle. More to the point, she is a proud creature—that much he can easily tell—and he’s sure Karai would sooner suffer alone than suffer the indignity of being treated as an invalid. She reminds him of Raphael, sometimes, in different ways, obscure though they are; the main difference, of course, is that his brother, all faults aside, has never once given anyone reason to doubt him. They are family, and Raphael has always come through, no matter what. And knowing April did not, in fact, trust Karai is a twisted sort of satisfaction. Twisted, because it’s not as pure an emotion as he should harbor within his heart, and because the mere thought of April and her actions leaves a stinging sensation deep in his core. But still, it means April wasn’t really walking on the dark side, so to speak. She was doing it for them. Trying to protect them and keep each and every one of them safe, like a sister. Like family.

“Leo?”

His brother’s voice is a gentle intrusion, and he manages a small smile in return. “Come on, little brother,” he says, standing up and holding out a helpful hand, “let’s go tell the others.”

***

The drive downtown is quiet, broken by the soothing strings of Beethoven filtering out of the car stereo. She honestly didn’t peg April for a classical music sort of girl, but it’s a tolerable choice in background noise while she leans against the window and watches the buildings pass. At times, the silence starts grating on her nerves, but then she bites back any comments and slumps into her seat. Talking makes the time go by fast, and time in this car, even if it’s in silence with the music of a dead guy who wore bad wigs filling the cabin, is time she’s not spending in a group home. She doesn’t want to waste it, not when she has so little left.

She’s a little disappointed. Not that she couldn’t have foreseen it coming, but April had promised to have her back, and she had been hopeful. Apparently, wrongly so. The lady at the hospital, with the clipboard and pursed lips, had been very clear: she was supposed to have been in the system months ago, and now her freedom has run its course.

There had been a moment, when April had taken the woman aside and had a private word with her, that Angel had really, truly, honestly thought she’d be in the clear. When she’d thought maybe April could put the strong arm on the system; maybe she could even come live with the brunette, crash on her couch for a little bit, help her out around the house, and feel, even for a short time, like she was part of something again. It had been a nice dream.

It almost stings a little more that April had insisted on being the one to drive her to the home. On the one hand, no stuffy taxi or cheap and poorly-cleaned group van. On the other hand, the person who’d promised to have her back was the one carting her off to a group home, a place for rejects and the ones too old to be cute and too damaged to be repaired. Only a few more miles, and she was going to be just where she’d started, months ago. Nothing has changed.

“Here we are.” April suddenly says, and she realizes they’re not on the streets anymore, but turning into a parking garage. The brunette enters a security code at the entrance, and then they’re going up, up, up, several stories, until she finds a spot and parks the car. When they both exit the vehicle, she’s looking around, more than a little confused. No group home she knows of, even in NYC, is accessible by some secured parking garage.

“Come on,” the other woman calls, already steamrolling ahead towards the elevator; Angel is left to sprint, just to close the distance between them, and quickly zip inside the closing doors. Her confusion is only growing, and April isn’t doing anything to clarify where they are or what they’re doing here. She’s leaning against the wall, staring casually up at the ceiling, fingers drumming lightly against her jean pockets.

When the doors reopen, they’re stepping out into a hallway, and it looks like they are either in a very fancy apartment complex or some kind of penthouse. And there is no way this is a group home. None whatsoever.

April, once again, strides forward, heading down the hall to what looks like the last door on the left. Angel follows, trying to make sense of this. Is this where April lives? Surely not. Not that the girl can’t have some decent money, but this just doesn’t look like her style. She’s pictured April living in some thrifty, one-of-a-kind place, maybe even one her boyfriend built for her, or at least fixed up, because he totally looks like the kind of guy who would do that. He also looks like the kind of guy who worships the ground she walks on and, as she’s witnessed firsthand, will bust up a guy’s jaw for laying one finger on _his_ girl.

The thought makes her smile a little. So far as looks go, April and her ninja boy are about as far apart as the North and South Poles, but as they say, opposites attract.

April pauses at the last door on the left, knocks twice, and then lets herself in with a gesturing motion for Angel to follow. This is definitely a penthouse, and a really nice one at that. In the living room, there’s a gathering of canvases, some with paint on them, others blank, and along one wall, there are about four or five, fully covered in paint and boasting different images, and as she peers closer at the paintings, there is something oddly familiar about them. She’s seen this work before.

“You’re late.”

Her head snaps back to attention as a voice emits from the kitchen area, into which April is leading her. The brunette smirks, rolls her eyes, and returns the quip with a comment about bad traffic, followed by another remark about patience being a virtue. Angel isn’t really listening, not when her gaze is solely rooted on the very pretty platinum-haired woman leaning against the table, with dark blue eyes and a coy smile on her lips. And recognition hits like a speeding train.

“You’re Celine West.” Angel murmurs, stepping forward. “The painter, right?”

“Indeed.”

She takes another step forward, a smile tugging at her lips. “I saw your work in a couple magazines…the piece on New York nightlife. It was a real trip, all that color.”

Miss West smiles, broadly and brightly. “A far more honest description than the viewing public gave me at the gallery.” She says, pushing herself off the table and nodding back toward the living room. “I’m particularly fond of this new one.” 

The other two follow as she retrieves one canvas from the wall, and Angel’s eyes widen as she takes it in. Color, everywhere, one half a sunrise and the other a sunset, highlighting the city skyline in shades of grey and little streaks of color, as though the city and sky are bleeding into one another. It’s amazing.

Her eyes drift away, to another canvas, and then she does a double-take, because this one is very different. Almost all the others here are of the city, or nature, or something along those lines, but not this one. This one is a figure emerging from darkness, tall and powerful build, created from various shades of green and darker shadows, and a vibrant streak of blue across the eyes and framing the face and neck.

She’s seen this figure before. Some of the finer details are lacking, but there’s no mistaking the muscular build and the blue mask across his face. “So,” she says, turning back towards Miss West, “you’re the one who has dibs on the fearless leader?”

“Very much so.” Miss West answers for the brunette, with a wink and mischievous little smirk. Not even a hint of hesitation or shyness; just calm and smooth honesty. This is a lady who’s proud to call him her man, mutant turtle ninja or not.

“Now,” Miss West continues, propping herself against the window; April’s tucked herself back into the kitchen, dialing a number in her phone, but she’s too far away and talking too quietly to overhear the conversation, “it’s not the world’s largest room, but you should have enough room for the bed, and a desk, and the closet is a good size.”

_Wait, what?_ “Room?”

“Mmm,” the blonde brings her across the room, opens a door, and flicks on a light to reveal a bedroom. A bedroom with a full-sized bed, a closet, a huge set of windows, and room to spare. A bedroom.

“This…this is my room?” Angel whispers, darting her eyes around the room before turning to face Miss West, “What’s going on?”

Miss West smiles, again, slips an arm around her shoulder, and tucks her close. “If there is nothing else you remember, Angel,” she murmurs, “Remember that April O’Neil never breaks a promise. If she says she’ll have your back, she’ll take a bullet before you. If she says she’ll go shopping because you’re sick, she’ll bring back half the pharmacy and enough food for five months. And if she says you’re not going to a group home, you are damn sure not going to a group home.”

She stares, silently, for what seems like an hour. She’s a fast thinker, moves before anyone else, first one out the door, hits the ground running, and yet she’s at a complete loss for words and thoughts. This is her room. She’s not going to a group home. She’s going to live here, with Miss West, and she’ll have her own room, and she’ll wake up to someone else in the house who smiles real smiles and might let her help fix meals and care whether or not she gets up in the morning and makes it home at night. And maybe she can watch Miss West paint, and they can go out together and see movies and Miss West might even come to the school for events. No more sleeping on concrete floors or on a thin excuse for a mat, and no more gangsters and promises with strings attached. She’ll go to sleep in a real bed, in a safe place, with a safe person.

“This is my room.” She whispers, and even when she doesn’t like to cry and she’s tougher than that, she feels tears brimming in her eyes and distorting her vision. _This is my room._

“This,” Miss West says, wrapping both arms around her; she’s being hugged…someone is hugging her and wanting her and loving her, “is your home.”

***

“You want to talk about it?”

The question comes quietly, such that April never expected to hear it, spoken that way, from the girl standing beside her. Celine is across the room, resuming work on her newest piece to pass the time; she’s been tucked on the couch, pressed into the far corner, and so far as she knew, Angel was in her room, exploring and silently savoring how it felt to actually have a place to call her own, after all this time. But, apparently, she was mistaken; the redhead is standing nearby, hands on hips, head tilted to the side, and eyebrows lifted.

“…no, thanks.” She finally answers, but instead of walking away, Angel only scoffs and steps closer.

“Look,” the younger girl says briskly, “I don’t do this whole touchy-feeling thing. You’ve caught me on a good day. Take advantage of it.”

_Oh._ Angel thinks it’s a personal thing, that she doesn’t feel she could talk to someone like her about this. But she’s wrong. It’s not just her. She hasn’t even told Celine. She hasn’t even told one of her closest friends. Granted, Celine won’t—because she knows better than to—ask, but the fact remains. It’s a secret. A secret she’s harboring and storing and tucking away as far into the banished corners of her heart as she can. She doesn’t want to remember. She doesn’t want to remember how royally she screwed up. Not once, but now twice. If she’s extra fortunate, there will be a third time coming up so she can complete the set.

The sudden depression in couch cushions catches her attention, and she finds Angel sprawled across the open space, one leg kicked over the other, arms draped over the back and arm rest, and she’s still got both eyebrows up and a look on her face. The kind of look that says, _Start talking, or else_. On a different day, April might choose _or else_ , but somehow, there’s a strange comfort in this girl’s persistence. It wasn’t even a week ago that Angel shut her down when help was offered, regarded her as an interference rather than a potential ally, and even when being rescued, was more inclined to get snippy than be grateful.

But she’s there, and they’re here together, and suddenly the secret doesn’t want to be tucked away. It’s pressing at the back of her throat, cold pressure, choking her and yet needing release. And then it’s joined by its companion memory, the one she tries to ignore on a daily basis, but it’s always there, never content to be forgotten. Together, the two are a cruel force working against her, and her eyes start burning.

“I screwed up.” She whispers, staring up at the ceiling. “For the second time, I told myself I knew better, that I knew what was best and what was right, and both times I’ve royally screwed things up.” The burning in her eyes is worse, and when she rubs her hand across one, she finds the warm slick of tears. “I thought if…if maybe I left them out of it, everything would work itself out. That I could…I don’t know, maybe prove that I didn’t need to be rescued, but I could rescue them instead. And once again, it blew up in my face.”

Silence falls, for a little bit, and then Angel speaks. “So…are you’re done with the pity party?”

April sighs, blinking back the lingering tears. It serves her right for opening up to someone she doesn’t know, someone she already knows lacks a gentle bedside manner. “Yeah, sure.”

“Good.” The redhead lurches forward, folding her legs cross-wise and propping one elbow on each knee. “Then let me give you the swift kick of reality you seriously need.” 

Ignoring the look April throws at her, she huffs out a breath, puffing up her loose bangs, and then tucks them behind her ear when that doesn’t work. “How many nights do you think I laid awake, thinking about all the different opportunities I had to get those girls out of there? How many different chances I had to call the cops and bring the whole operation down? And how times did I do it? None. And don’t you dare give me that B.S. about how I was just trying to survive or was as much a victim as them. I made those choices. They were really crappy decisions, but I made them all the same. And the other night, when I thought I was going to be beaten into a smear and left there, all I could think was how much I deserved it. Let the punishment fit the crime. My cross to bear, and all that. So, when you and Karai showed up to save the day, no, I wasn’t grateful. Because I didn’t deserve it.”

“Regardless of your reasons,” April says, sitting upright in turn, eyes narrowing at the younger girl, “when it came down to it, when push came to shove and everything was on the line, you came through. You knew the difference between right and wrong and you were willing to risk everything to protect those girls.”

Angel lifts an eyebrow. “And _you_ weren’t?”

The silence doesn’t fall so much as it hits her, with the subtlety of a speeding train, and she loses any kind of coherent response. But words, clearly, aren’t needed; the look on her face must be enough, because Angel scoots a little closer, leans forward, and pats her on the head. It’s mildly insulting, to be patted like an endearing but troublesome pet, and yet the amused smile on Angel’s face steals away her ability to be irritated. And somehow, she feels at ease. The self-loathing and guilt and all other leftover emotions ebbing away, and there’s only a vibrant flash of understanding left. And a growing affection for the girl sitting beside her.

“You know, those boys are really lucky.” Angel continues, with the same little smile tugging her lips upward and a playful gleam in her eye. “To have someone as totally nuts as you on their side.”

***

“So…anyone know what we’re doing here?”

“No, Mikey, we don’t know what we’re doing here.” Raph growls. “Just like we didn’t know what we were doing here when you asked _five minutes_ ago, or the _**forty-five times**_ before that!”

“Twenty-two times.”

“Not now, Donnie!”

“The whole point of demonstrating patience,” Leonardo finally says, slowly turning to fix his brothers with a look, “is to do so _quietly_.”

Raph grumbles under his breath, crosses his arms tightly, and leans back against the ledge. Mikey hops up, close by, and dangles his legs over the edge, looking down into the streets with a curious gaze. Donnie is beside his older brother, goggles snapped down over his eyes and peering carefully at each passerby, no doubt searching for a familiar face amongst the moving crowds. For several minutes, silence falls once more, broken only by Mikey’s quiet humming of, if Leo’s not mistaken, the Jeopardy theme song.

And then, with a light nudge, Donatello gets his attention once more. “Two o’clock, down below.”

He leans forward, eyes searching the sidewalk for something or someone familiar, someone who might explain why they are here, and why they have yet to hear from April. Then, appearing from around the corner, maybe having just exited April’s office building, he sees a head of vibrant red hair and vaguely recognizes the girl from the other night. _Amy?_ No, that can’t be right. _Annabelle?_ Surely not.

“Angel face!” Mikey declares, earning himself a furious hushing gesture from Raphael, but he hardly looks bothered as he practically bends himself in half over the ledge. “Guys, guys! There’s my girl! There’s my Angel!”

Ah, yes. _Angel._ How could he forget, after his youngest brother wouldn’t stop talking about her for six consecutive hours?

“And look!” Mikey continues, now bent so far over the edge that Raphael has to grab the back of his shell and pull him back, “She’s got a friend with her!”

“Mariah.” Donnie whispers, earning himself a look from all three brothers; after a couple minutes, he realizes the statement requires further information, and continues, “The girl April was hired to find…that’s her. Mariah Collins.”

Leonardo takes another look. Her dark brown hair looks recently washed, braided loosely, and she’s definitely wearing clothes that are too big for her. Then again, the size could be less the clothes and more her, because he can see the tight pull of skin over bones which indicate she hasn’t actually eaten a proper meal in weeks, and while she looks slowly on the mend, there are still prominent shadows under her eyes. But she looks like the healing process has begun, and when she smiles and laughs at something Angel says, it looks genuine.

April appears—though he didn’t as much see her as he did first hear Mikey’s exuberant declarations, which were quickly silenced by Raph’s hand clamping over his mouth—a few minutes later, and though he can’t hear anything, she’s clearly saying something profound to Mariah, because the younger girl’s eyes well with tears and she tightly embraces April for a longer minute.

Then, as April nods down the street, and Mariah sprints forward, Leonardo notices the man standing a distance away. His exact features are missed, only that he’s about middle-aged and dressed in jeans with a plaid shirt, and he’s already walking forward with arms outstretched. It isn’t long before she throws herself into his waiting embrace, matching it with her own, and neither of them breaks away, not for two minutes, not for five. They’re crying, they’re laughing, and Leo feels a powerful surge of emotion take him over. The kind of emotion inspired by seeing something as simple as a reunion, and yet it’s not simple, because the pure joy and relief of this man holding that girl in his arms again is radiating like a warm rush of sunlight. He feels a little tear forming and blinks it away, but he doesn’t stifle the smile.

At some point, he becomes aware of how quiet it is on the rooftop, and he sees his brothers sharing the moment with him, with similar expressions: Mikey is wiping away tears and sniffling, Raph is crouched on the ledge trying to look impassive or disinterested, except for the tiny smile tugging at his mouth, and Donnie is practically beaming. And then, another figure joins them, resting both hands on Donatello’s shoulders and leaning gently against him with a quiet sigh. Leonardo is pleased to see his brother doesn’t shy away, not even with such a display in front of the others, but instead looks to his right and meets April’s smiling gaze with a little nod.

“This job can be a thankless one, with small rewards, if any.” She murmurs, not just to Donatello, but to all of them. “It’s easy to lose sight of what’s important, who and what really matters. And it’s even easier to try and carry the burdens alone, because you don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt by the choices you make, or the actions you take.”

“But you can’t, April.” Leonardo murmurs, eyes drifting between her and the reunion down below. “You can’t carry it alone. Trust me, I’ve tried. It doesn’t work out too well. You can’t be a hero by yourself.”

“It wasn’t heroic.” she nods, resting her cheek on Donnie’s shoulder with another sigh. “I let my pride and my fears take over, and they guided my actions instead of trusting that you all could handle yourselves. All I could think about was what almost happened last time, and I lost sight of what really matters, and I let myself forget that then isn’t now. It wasn’t heroic or selfless, just selfish. And I’m sorry. Truly, guys, I’m sorry.”

Silence falls, but it’s not awkward or heavy; actually, it’s rather pleasant. The tension from the other night is gone, faded away with her apology and the fact that, whether the proper words are exchanged or not, she’s forgiven, and they’re together again, like it’s supposed to be, and nothing really matters beyond that.

The gentleness of the moment is broken when Mikey declares he’s hungry, and he’s been hungry for hours and hours but his brothers wouldn’t let him eat and nurture his growing self. Raphael says he can take care of that, demonstrating with a fisted hand and offering his younger brother “a nice big knuckle sandwich”. April intervenes, thankfully, and casually mentions there’s something downstairs for them. Mikey asks if food is, or is involved in, the “something”. His brother’s ability to have a one-track mind is quite impressive sometimes.

***

As it turns out, the “something downstairs” does indeed involve food. But it also involves Angel, and Mikey quickly forgets about the feast April has laid out in the kitchen and delves headfirst into every last drop of charm he possesses. Angel takes it in stride, returning charm with dry wit and sarcasm, but there’s a very audible hint of amusement in her voice, and her lips are constantly twitching upward. She’s clearly not as unimpressed by Mikey as she’d like him to think. Or, maybe not. Maybe it’s a little game, because he doesn’t stop trying and she doesn’t make a point of walking away. Donatello isn’t sure. Coy teenage games of flirtation have never been his strong suit. Or any kind of flirtation, for that matter.

The “something” also included Celine, blue eyes bright and smile wide in greeting, finally home and encased within his brothers arms, and the only thing that parted Leonardo from her after five very long minutes was Raphael’s pointed grumble about eating something besides her lips. And even then, they haven’t actually been parted in the truest sense, not with both hands clasped together, and tightly. He’s sure Leo will _not_ be returning to the lair tonight.

April looks completely at ease. Actually, she looks radiant. Barefoot, in light-wash jeans and a dark purple shirt, hair gathered loosely in a ponytail but with a few loose tendrils around her face and neck; she hasn’t been without a smile since they came down here. She’s chatted with everyone for a time, from Celine and Leo to Mikey and Angel—the latter asked, fervently, if Angel would be coming around more often, looked a little disappointed when Angel shrugged, nonchalant, and then nearly shattered the building’s foundations when her shrug was followed by a coy comment, “You’ll just have to come by Celine’s more often,” and a wink—and finally spent quite a while with Raph. He couldn’t hear the exact details of the conversation, but whatever she said made his brother smile, and that’s a feat he’s never seen anyone else achieve.

He knows he isn’t much for big parties, more likely to linger in the backdrop and tinker with his gear than socialize. This should be different, because it’s family, but somehow it’s not. He feels unsure, a little awkward—okay, more than a little—and can’t take his eyes off April. Not just seeing her as she is now, looking put-together and enjoying herself and without any hint that, beneath the fabric of her shirt, her body is still healing; he’s also seeing the slim and graceful lines of her body, exposed by her nightwear, and feeling her dark curls slipping and sliding through his fingers, and tasting her lips on his, and remembering her sweet and natural scent and how warm she was against him.

By common standards, it was so innocent, only a kiss and nothing more. But each kiss had rocked him, threatened to unravel every seam of his body, and cause a massive internal eruption that is physically impossible but felt so very, very probable and more than possible. So much more than he’d ever imagined possible, and now he feels an acute sense of terror, trying to plan his next move. He’s fine with it being a one-time thing, really. He can keep the memory stored away in a special place, and just be content with staying at her side. It would be fine. He doesn’t need anything more. Really, he doesn’t.

“Hey,” she murmurs, coming closer with a beaming smile and two cups of punch; he takes the offered one with a small nod and thanks, and she stands a respectable distance away, “what are you doing in the corner?”

“Oh, well…” he shrugs; how does he properly phrase his desire to stay away from the spotlight without just sounding like a total social recluse. Which, frankly, he is.

She nods over her shoulder. “Don’t want to give your brother a run for his money on the dance floor?”

He blinks, then looks around her to the center of the room. The stereo is playing a pop song he vaguely recognizes from one of Mikey’s numerous collections, and his youngest sibling is rocking the floor, dancing his shell off, and he looks absolutely ridiculous. But he’s having fun, and he’s not alone. Angel is there, dancing with far more coordination and practice, in absolute disregard for her leg injury—Donatello has a feeling this is not her first time on a dance floor, and she shouldn’t be on this dance floor with that kind of leg injury—and together, the two of them make a highly unlikely and improbable mismatch. But they both look happy; Angel is even smiling and laughing affectionately at his brother’s frequent misstep and amusing recovery. If she’s in pain from her bad leg, she isn’t showing it. She took off the splint some time ago, and it’s now resting on the far wall. He can only hope she isn’t aggravating any damage, or it could be disastrous.

He suddenly has a flash of memory, of Neil Diamond playing in the apartment and April in his arms, guiding him until the lack of coordination was no longer a problem, her smile and the way she rested her head on his upper chest and let him guide her. And his limbs are now quivering, the urge to do it again pulsing through the veins and spurring him forward, and he’s reduced to gripping the chair with both hands, lest he actually get up and follow this utterly irrational urge.

“You okay?”

Of course April would notice. “Fine.” He squeaks, and then clears his throat, swallows twice, and tries again. “Fine.”

Her eyebrow cocks and she takes a step forward; he takes a few drinks of the punch, because his mouth is suddenly very dry and part of him actually hopes this is spiked with a sleeping pill. “Donnie,” she murmurs, “I know when you’re trying to lie to me.”

_Ugh._ “I’m fine, really.” He tries again, but she’s not buying it, and if she comes any closer, he might actually scoop her up in his arms and take to the dance floor. He’s got to get a grip. He doesn’t even know how she feels, after that night, after the kiss, after everything. He can’t risk making assumptions and blowing whatever-this-is between them to smithereens.

“Donatello.”

The words come tumbling out before he can bite them back, his traitorous tongue apparently quite eager to declare his idiocy without a thought for consequences. “ _I want to dance with you_.”

Her other eyebrow lifts. “Come again?”

_Double ugh._ “I…” he swallows, takes another drink of punch, and releases an unsteady breath, “I have an irrational, illogical, completely time-and-place-inappropriate…overwhelming and consuming urge to dance with you.”

The eyebrows stay up, but now her lips are also curving upward and oh, he loves that smile. That bright, radiant, uninhibited expression of sheer delight that makes her eyes sparkle and her entire demeanor changes and she practically glows. He feels like he’s basking in the warm sun on a perfect spring day.

The song ends, and another begins. He recognizes it as one April listens to while cleaning the apartment, on full volume and singing along with childish and so very endearing delight. He’s watched her sway and twirl to the beat, without a care, and every time he’s imagined being the broom or mop she’s using as both a cleaning tool and a makeshift dance partner.

_Listen, baby, ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low,  
ain’t no river wide enough, baby…_

He becomes acutely aware of her hands slipping into his, and then she’s speaking again—no, wait, she’s not speaking, she’s…His eyes dart up to her face, to her lips, to verify what his brain is declaring, and sure enough, those lips are moving and her body is already swaying in time, and her eyes are dancing with delight.

“ _If you need me, call me._ ” She’s singing, and not quietly, not caring who might be overhearing or watching, and he has the inexplicable thought that she just might be singing to him, “ _No matter where you are, no matter how far._ ” 

Her hands tug a little more, and he’s already halfway on his feet before he even realizes it, “ _Don’t worry, baby. Just call my name; I’ll be there in a hurry. You don’t have to worry…_ ”

In the same moment as the beat finally kicks off, he tosses insecurity to the wind, because he really just does not care anymore, and if he catches teasing from his brothers for this, he’ll deal with it and just remember how it feels, once again, to have her in his arms and to act like nothing else matters. Because, really, nothing else does.

He spins April out and pulls her back, and she’s smiling, sometimes still singing along, but Mikey has now taken over that task, loudly and proudly, and he too is rocking to the beat, this time following Angel’s lead with wild and carefree arm motions and what appear to be coordinated movements. They’re both laughing and having a grand time, and the earlier game is apparently over, because there’s no way Angel is still playing hard-to-get. She looks far too happy to be pretending. It’s a good look on her.

“One side, little brother,” Leo says, over the music, as he’s leading Celine onto the dance floor; they’ve clearly done this before, once or twice, but it’s incredible to watch his ordinarily stoic and overly serious brother drop the determined scowl and actually wear a smile for longer than five seconds, and more impressive is how easily he starts moving to the music, matching the beat with good grace. Celine looks incredibly happy, and he’s sure she won’t be leaving again for a while. A very, very long while.

Raph’s loud protests cut into the melody for a minute or two, as both Mikey and Angel grab one hand each and start tugging him forward. He doesn’t go without a half-hearted fight—half-hearted, because if he really didn’t want to, he’d have thrown both of them to the ground by now—and furious grumbles about “looking like an idiot” and then, when Mikey accuses him of having two left feet, “I can dance circles around you, Ding-Dong!” Which is about the time he actually starts moving in time to the music, and he’s not half bad. Sensei would be either impressed, or highly mortified that this is what years and years of intensive training has accumulated to.

He drops his gaze back down when he feels April’s hand sliding lazily up his shoulder and curving around his neck, and he has just enough time to see the smile on her lips before the hand tugs him down and she meets his mouth with hers. This time, he doesn’t hesitate before responding in kind. There’s a faint whoop and hollering that sounds vaguely like Mikey, and a whistle that sounds like something Raph would do, and he knows they’ve been spotted. He knows, and he doesn’t care.

And that is a glorious feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested, the song used here at the end is "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. Inspired by Mikey's solo serenade at the end of the actual movie, with a new twist and purpose. I look forward to seeing all of you in the next installment, "E Tu, Cupid?" Enjoy!


End file.
